Mirror, Mirror
by Hymntanra
Summary: It's not PHANTOM'S fault that Evan mirrors Freud so closely. It's not HIS fault that Evan is so quick to forgive, nor his fault that Evan pities and consents. Darkfic, PhanEvan&PhanFreud. Dubcon.


Mirror, Mirror

Evan had light brown hair, Freud had dark auburn.

Evan had light blue eyes, Freud had piercing aqua.

Evan is naïve, Freud was brilliant.

They have a strong resemblance interrupted by small inconsistencies and the difference in mentality. Evan is fragile and one-sighted—he can't see a middle ground, for as a child it does not exist. Freud was brilliant, a man who contemplated the whole of existence and how to handle such a complicated thing. His conclusion generally came to a weary smile accompanied by a statement about how everyone had to learn to live with it. He was a man that was good to be around, when he lived.

But he no longer lived. Now, where he stood, is the replacement that looks oddly like him but holds a different shade of hair, a different shade of eye, and a different shade of personality. But Phantom looks at the boy and he sees Freud; his eyesight blurs to bring the redhead back into existence to hold up his own existence. Evan is confused, at first. He can't understand why Phantom is so helpful and friendly, and why he smiles so brightly and longingly at the small brunette Dragon Master.

He returns one day, from a mission with a somber expression on his delicate features. Evan went to the past, through a portal provided to him by allies in the Silent Crusade. They showed him Freud, the man whom he could look at and see his own face—so different, yet so similar. He knows, then, why Phantom had been looking at him and helping him and trying so hard to be close to him.

Evan is a simple, forgiving boy who wants nothing but to help others.

So he concedes as soon as he knows.

It will, after all, make Phantom happy. It won't bring back Freud, it won't bring back the person who Phantom REALLY wants back. But it will provide that oh-so-brief but oh-so-satisfying and soothing time in which Phantom can really pretend that nothing happened. That time where he can hold the thin and shaking form against his own chest, breathing against the brunette's neck as he kisses it again and again.

Evan would shake and shiver and hold his hands over his own mouth to prevent him from saying anything that he will regret. If he says the wrong thing, he will hurt Phantom's feelings, and he certainly does not want to do that. This whole situation, where the young brunette lay nervously on a red silk bedspread wearing very little, was to make his ally feel better. He did not want to say anything wrong while gloved hands ran up silky thighs, and certainly not when his red jacket was pushed away to reveal a slight form.

He breathes hard, simply allowing Phantom to do as he pleases—after all, Phantom is experienced and Phantom knows what he's doing. Evan is sure of it, most of the time. But there are times when Phantom gets this unsure look in his eyes. He will pause and look down at Evan like he is just seeing the boy for the first time. He'll sit there, for several minutes, straddling the successor, and just stare blankly at him. As if he is trying to comprehend some new and bizarre concept.

Perhaps the concept of who he is looking at.

Perhaps he is wondering who this person he is sitting on is, and where the real person went, and why the person he is sitting on is crying.

Evan starts slightly; he brings a hand up to his face, and feeling his cheek, discovers that he is indeed crying. He lets out a hoarse cough that slowly turns into a timid laugh. "Sorry. I didn't mean to do that."

"Why are you crying?" Phantom seems entirely serious—this is the first time such a thing has happened. Evan has never reacted negatively; he has been completely compliant for the entirety, even suggesting when they should—for it will cheer Phantom up, it will make everything happier again—and smiling stupidly all the way. But he has never cried, not until today as thick tears ran down his face, tears that just are getting worse.

He is now holding his hands against his eyes and sobbing loudly; Evan does not know what is wrong with him. He's never done this before. Phantom's hands stay their distance. What else can they do? All he can really do is looking and be stabbed at the back of the head with the continuously accusation of both know that for quite some time, Phantom has been ignoring that accusation of self-blame. Evan himself has been trying to keep the blonde thief from that feeling. He knows, sadly, that his tears are slowly breaking that and digging into Phantom's subconscious.

Is it wrong?

Phantom curses himself immediately.

Evan gets up slowly, shifting off of the bed onto shaky legs. The boy is not a crybaby, he never has been. He tells himself this and reminds himself that he is the boy who refused to cry even when his happy little world with the Blackwings collapsed around him. What, he wonders, makes this so much worse? Evan knows he made an offer and he knows that it isn't something he can go back on. Besides, it was what he wanted—Phantom was admirable but hurt. He needed something like this.

_You should not provide it, boy._

Evan sits outside of Phantom's room now, covered in one of the silk blankets adorning the thief's bedspread. His form is barely present over the layers of fabric; it's impossible to figure his lack of clothing. All for the better. It wouldn't look good if the others walked back and could see his state-the red puff around his eyes certainly would not improve the situation if they did see. His hands and chin rest on the top of his knees as he stared morosely at the blank wall in front of him. At the moment it feels like the most interesting part of his life. His thoughts, though, really are just meant to detract from his situation. Evan shifts uncomfortably.

_Shall we begin again?_

_Shall we start back where we finished?_

_Shall we allow this charade to continue?_

_Do I hate you? Do I love you? Do you even care?_

_Shall we dance?_

Phantom comes out of the door and sits besides the boy. Evan looks straight down; he does not want to have this conversation but it must be had. It was too late to not have it.

"It's because you mirror Freud."

Evan is silent for a moment, and then speaks up in a shaky voice. "I know it is. I know that's all it's really about. A-and I know the whole thing is supposed to be forgotten at the end of the day buh-but…I don't know. Maybe this sort of thing wasn't something I was ready for. Maybe I shouldn't have made the offer."

"Maybe you shouldn't have." Phantom parrots. Evan wants to glare but can't even bring himself to lift his head. "Maybe I shouldn't have let you."

"Maybe."

"You look too much like him, Evan. When I close my eyes, I can just pretend it's him under me. But it isn't, and I know that. And I think you should know that I'm likely not going to acknowledge it ever again." Phantom continues. Evan looks at him with forlorn eyes-yes, he should have figured such an answer. Poor Phantom, with his poor denial-Evan feels pity rising once again. It is his nature, after all. "But I know it isn't him. He didn't give me an unsure look. He knew what he was doing, would give a welcoming alluringly look—not an unsure and mildly scared one. I've been tricking myself. But I won't say that again, mark my words."

"If you won't say it again, what're we gonna do?"

"…Whatever you want." Phantom replies curtly. "Tomorrow."

And like clockwork, Evan is there the next evening.

_For me, the comfort of knowing I helped you. For you, the comfort of a moment with the long deceased that brought so much into your life._

_Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the biggest fraud of them all?_


End file.
